


Rough Trade

by Shoshanna Gold (shoshannagold)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-19
Updated: 2009-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshannagold/pseuds/Shoshanna%20Gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>See, that's some exploitative shit. You been exploited by your betters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Trade

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction based on characters in the HBO miniseries.
> 
> Written as a weekly episode challenge for [Get Some: A Generation Kill Porn Skirmish.](http://getsome.oxoniensis.org/) Huge beta thanks to [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) and [](http://mydocuments.livejournal.com/profile)[**mydocuments**](http://mydocuments.livejournal.com/).

"Yo, Iceman!" Espera called, striding across the tent to stand at Brad's feet. "Me and the rest of Team One are going to show Rolling Stone the lay of the land, check out what kind of entertainment might be on tap for tonight. I got your permission to take your boys on a little field trip?"

Brad looked up from his laptop. Such a handy decoy; he looked like he was studying maps and everyone left him the fuck alone. "I trust you, Poke, to ensure they get a nice treat if they mind their manners" he said mockingly. "Oh, and Person stays here. We've got half a call book to go over tonight."

"Dog, I'll treat them, all right. I'll treat them to a lick of my asshole if any of these fuckers steps out of line." Poke grinned and the tent erupted in catcalls and anally-themed insults, the usual high-brow humor Brad expected from Bravo 2. "But Person ain't coming with, anyway. Don't know where that boy got to."

Ray had been asleep on his rack since chow, and Brad had been unaware of any change in the sit-rep. He frowned. "I didn't see him leave."

"He went to the motor pool 'til lights out," Walt said. "He told me, because he knew you were busy and he didn't want to bug you. He cleared it with Pappy." he added, when Brad raised his eyebrows.

Did he, now? Ray wasn't usually a pussy – but Brad couldn't blame him for wanting to avoid the chat he and Brad had coming.

Poke snorted. "He probably went on another one of those 'procurement' missions of his; Lovell asked him if he knew where he could get some new spark plugs and Person said he'd poke around. He's probably on his knees somewhere in RCT1 – " He stopped, glaring at Walt. "You punched me, dog? Are you looking to lose that hand? What the fuck?"

Walt glared back and gestured at Trombley, who didn't seem to be paying attention as he lovingly polished his gun barrel. "I don't think we want James knowing 'bout Ray's 'supply chain' or whatever the fuck he calls it," he said to Poke quietly.

Irritation bubbled through Brad, though he was careful not to let it show. "I believe you two have a member of the fifth estate to entertain with Adam Sandler movies and the WMDs in the command tent," he said dismissively, looking back down at the laptop.

"Roger that, Brad," said Poke after sharing another look with Walt. "We're stepping off."

He left, but Walt lingered for a minute, crouching down so that he was eye level with Brad, who had no choice but look up. "Is there something I can help you with, Corporal?"

"Brad – " Walt paused. "Ray really is in the motor pool right now. I went and hung with him for a bit. He's working some more on Poke's victor."

Damn Recon Marines. For a brief second, Brad longed to be in a platoon with clueless assholes who didn't notice anything beyond their own dicks. He nodded crisply. "Thank you for updating me on Corporal Person's twenty."

Walt grinned suddenly. "Go easy on him, Sergeant," he said, standing and jauntily saluting Brad. "He might be a whiskey tango fuck up with absolutely no moral convictions, but he's yours."

"I lay no special claim to Corporal Person, Hasser. He's as much yours as he is mine," Brad said laconically, looking back down at the screen. "If somebody has to claim him, I think we could say he's ours."

"Sure, Sarge. Whatever you say." The fucker actually whistled Dixie as he walked over to join Poke.

The two of them rounded up the rest of Brad's team, the LT's boys, and Reporter, and finally left Brad in peace. Team Three had gone to the chow tent to watch whatever inane Mad TV rip-off was being screened that night, and Pappy's team was completely preoccupied with their chess tournament. It was being organized according to the most Byzantine rules of engagement Brad had ever seen, but at least it kept them busy.

Being a TL was increasingly like being a camp counsellor at a sleep-away camp for boys, Brad thought, and it had grown worse as the weather got hotter and the shamals picked up. Soon he'd be leading sing-alongs and organizing scavenger hunts. On the bright side, the latter would give his platoon a chance to put some of their recon skill to work.

Brad grinned at the thought of First Recon let loose on Kuwait with a map and directions to find buried treasure. Given the skill and determination of his men, they'd probably come back with the holy grail. Not a bad plan, actually, they could trade the loot for batteries. He might have to suggest something along these lines to Fick, just to see the look on the LT's face.

In the meantime, however, he had his own irascible Marine to tend to.

*

The motor pool at Matilda was a series of large tents, each with a wooden deck with openings for drainage of oil and other fluids. No lifts, no compressors built into walls, nothing like its fully decked-out counter-part at Pendleton. During the day, the tent designated First Recon's was bustling over with men, so many that Brad's platoon usually opted to work on their victors outside, where it was slightly cooler and the light was better. At night, though, they moved the victors inside, to try to protect their work from the ravages of the environment.

The motor pool was empty tonight, the halogen lights strung everywhere turned off except for in the far corner, where Brad could see Ray's boots sitting out from under Poke's humvee. It was something of a game in First Recon to approach one another as stealthily as possible, in an effort to get a jump on them; a game that Brad never once won with Ray. He thought maybe Ray singing Green Day's 'Misery' at the top of his lungs and being under the victor might give him an edge this time, but Ray slid out just as Brad was about to grab his legs. "Nice try, buddy. I heard you coming before you even knew you were going to leave the tent."

"You're mistaking the sound of arty echoing in your ears from today's exercise for actual recon skills," Brad said dismissively.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to get through the day, Brad." Ray rolled his eyes. "You come to lend a hand or just to loom over me with an air of mocking superiority?"

"I can't do both?" Brad asked, but knelt down anyway. "What are you doing?"

"Fuck if this bitch, on top of everything else, didn't need an oil change. So I get down here and I'm changing the pans and I notice it's leaking brake fluid."

"Jesus fucking Christ. Are the lines shot?"

"Completely and totally fucked. But don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Brad, I'm on it like a motherfucker. New lines are coming in tomorrow and Jeff's going to help me put them in. I thought I'd give us a head start tonight by stripping out the old lines."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Sure. There's another creeper over by the LT's truck. You wanna check on the transmission lines while I do this? My spidey senses are telling me that we might end up rebuilding this whole fucking engine before we step off."

Brad sighed. He had a feeling Ray was right. If he knew who was responsible for the enormous fuck-up that had resulted in the victor Poke and his team had worked on for two months before leaving Pendleton being lost on their way to Kuwait, he would gladly shoot them and leave their body for the coyotes. This whole thing smacked of Griego, but Battalion was covering their asses.

He got the creeper and slid under the humvee. Ray had set up a light and there was room enough for the two of them to work shoulder-to-shoulder comfortably, the tool box on Ray's other side. Ray handed him a set of pliers and Brad got down to it.

The tranny lines were fucked, too, severely enough that a patch job wouldn't do the trick. Brad decided not to even try to figure out if any of them could be salvaged. Better to replace this all now than to try to unfuck it the middle of the AO. Under other circumstances, he might have let the idiocy of the situation get to him – what the fuck were two highly trained 0321s doing working on a ground operations combat vehicle? But Ray was working away next to him, singing a Beach Boys medley, and Brad let himself get lost in the work, humming along.

He joined in on background vocals for 'Rhonda' and provided harmony for 'Good Vibrations'. After a rousing rendition of 'Kokomo,' he got down to business. "What was the name of the officer you sucked off?"

Ray looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Brad, dude, c'mon. You know what that was about."

Brad sighed. "You didn't give the guys a name when you told them about it?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not going to risk some asshole opening his mouth to the wrong person. Can you imagine if the LT caught wind of this? He'd launch a sexual harassment investigation that'd make the Clarence Thomas hearings look like a tea party."

"Damn it, Ray. You couldn't think of some other way for us to get an hour or two alone than to make up a bullshit story about you whoring yourself out?"

"No way, man! This is the perfect cover! We can get hours of peace and quiet out of this. Half the platoon wants to call in Reverend Dicksuck for marriage counselling and the other half is trying to roust out this guy to make a similar arrangement." Ray grinned. "Be interesting to see what comes out of their efforts, won't it?"

Brad ignored the implication that half the officers in H&amp;S company might end up with his Marines on their knees in front of them; he had more pressing concerns than the SOP military homoeroticism. "I don't particularly enjoy having half of Bravo Company look at me like I've been cuckolded by some dickless POG whose only redeeming feature is a stack of signed supply requisition forms. And what if somebody gets the bright idea to set you straight on the wisdom of stepping out on me with a forty mikemike to your head? You're playing with fucking fire, Ray, and it's not worth it."

"Fuck, man, it was a joke. You know that, I know that. But no, Marines are so fucking obsessed with all things gay that some asshole took it seriously and now we've got ourselves a show. I just took advantage of pre-existing conditions. You need to unclench your asshole." Ray put down his wrench and edged closer to Brad, their creepers banging into each other. "Seriously. You need to chill the fuck out, Brad. We haven't even left Kuwait yet and you've got that look in your eye like this mission's completely fucked. I mean, it's not like I don't agree with you, since it's a week before the UN deadline and we're repairing a broken victor expected to carry five of our brethren into and through battle, but you freaking out now isn't going to make any of this shit better."

"I'm simply trying to make sure that we're as prepared for combat as we can be," Brad said, trying not to sound as defensive as he felt.

Ray shook his head. "We've got Fick and Wynn in charge and a full platoon of bad-ass motherfuckers who aren't going to lie down for shit, no matter who is passing it out. Those two things alone put us in better shape than any other platoon on this side of the fuckin' Persian Gulf. But we can fight about that another time.

"To get back to your other concern, you don't need to worry that somebody's going to take me out for being untrue to you. Our friends have already figured out that the story is bullshit: Rudy stopped me before I even left the tent, handed over a tube of lipgloss." He grinned. "He said it's multi-purpose; we'd better make sure we save some for him and Pappy. And I ran into Kocher on my way over here; he said I'm not half as smart as I think I am – fuck him, by the way, because this was complete fucking genius – but he's keeping watch to make sure we aren't interrupted anyway. It's sweet, don't you think, the way Marines are all really just big cuddly teddy bears, deep down?"

That explained the twinkle in Walt's eye, too. Brad laughed despite himself. "You'd better watch yourself, Ray. Eric will hunt you down and feed you your testicles if he hears you say that."

"Fucking whatever, man. I'm not the one so desperate for a recon mission I'm doing a stake-out on the motor pool tent. I think he's hoping Captain America will happen along this way."

And there was yet another situation that was going to end messily. But Brad wasn't going to think about that now; he couldn't do a thing about it and it would piss Ray off. "As completely fucking transparent as your scheming was, Ray, here we are. We've got a good hour before lights out. Are you going to get me off or talk me to death?"

"There you go, buddy! That's the Iceman I know and love." Ray reached over and palmed Brad's cock through his cammies. "And hell, there's nothing to stop me from doing both."

Brad knew a challenge when he heard one. He leaned in close and kissed Ray, skipping over the preliminaries in favor of a deep, wet kiss that stole both their breath. He put his hand down on the deck to center himself … and felt himself roll away, rather than move closer. "We might need to lose the creepers."

Ray rolled off his, pushing it away, and then pulled on him so that Brad rolled on top of him. "Done and done."

"Smooth." It was, actually. He liked that Ray was strong enough to manhandle him if he put his mind to it, not that there was any way in hell Brad would further inflate Ray's already healthy ego by telling him that.

"You can rate my technique under a victor another time, Brad. Right now I just want to fucking get some. I was waiting for you for like an hour." Ray's hand rustled squeezed in between them and then he was unbuttoning Brad's pants and pulling down his zipper, digging Brad's cock out of his briefs,doing the same to himself. He lifted his hand and spit into his palm before reaching back down and taking both their cocks in his hand, rubbing the soft skin together.

"Then the next time you plan a booty call, you might want to actually tell me about it instead of leaving a trail of lies and misdirection for me to follow." Brad said, bracing himself on one hand to make some space between his chest and Ray's, careful not to shift his hips and lose Ray's touch on his cock. This was the first time in a month Brad had felt touch other than his own on his cock and he wanted all that he could get.

He slid his free hand up under Ray's t-shirt and palmed his stomach, enjoying the way the muscles flexed under his touch. "I almost let you stew here alone all night."

"That would have been cruel and unusual punishment, Brad. I thought we agreed, no kinky shit while we're deployed."

"So says the man who made me think about him on his knees with cock in his mouth all day. I imagined it, Ray, very clearly." He flicked his thumb over Ray's nipple before pinching it, hard.

Ray arched up into the touch, rubbing his thumb over the head of Brad's cock in answer. "Yeah? Which officer? Was it Fick? Fuck, he's got the mouth of a cocksucker himself. Imagine those pink lips wrapped around your dick, those eyes staring up at you, asking for more. He'd take both of us, Brad, and ask for more when we were done."

"Have you been thinking about Fick, Ray?" Brad pinched the other nipple, much harder this time. Ray moaned, and a jolt of satisfaction went through Brad. He didn't let go, increasing the pressure and using the edge of his nail until Ray writhed under him, his hand slipping off their dicks.

Brad released his grip on Ray to pick up his hand and put it right back where it had been, curling his fingers over Ray's and squeezing hard enough to let Ray know he should keep hold. "Who else have you been thinking about at night when I'm lying my rack, right next to yours? I hear you jack off, and I think about what that fucking perverted mind of yours might come up with, to get you breathing hard and fast like that."

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased when Ray didn't say anything, letting go of their dicks so that he could play with Ray's nipples again, twisting one and then the other. If he didn't need one hand to hold himself up, he'd intensify the experience, give Ray the kind of pain he knew got him off, but this could work, too. He lowered his head and bit at the bud of one, worrying it with his teeth. "If I make you look used and abused, are people going to think it was me or some officer fuck, Ray?"

"Fuck you, Colbert." Ray wrapped his free hand around the back of Brad's neck, tugging at him until their mouths met, their kiss hard and fast and dirty, teeth and tongues fighting for dominance.

They really shouldn't do this; for all that their relationship was a known quantity in certain quarters, it would still be a bad idea to advertise it shamelessly in a camp full of Marines, and walking around with swollen mouths and bitten lips was a perfect way to do so. He softened his mouth and Ray, always in tune with him, did the same, licking at Brad's lips. "You want to know what I think about? It's fucking dirty, Brad, all things I think about, and they're all about you."

Ray increased the tempo of his strokes, jacking their cocks hard and fast, the friction so tight and warm that Brad felt his orgasm building, and kept talking: "I know you're there, listening in the dark because you can't sleep, and I think about crawling over to your rack and going down on you. You'd shove your cock into my mouth and fuck my throat, fuck down deep until I'm so raw I shouldn't be able to talk." He paused and grinned. "Not that it would work," he added and Brad laughed and came.

Ray gentled his touch and kissed him through it, sucking at his tongue. Brad took a moment, breathing hard into Ray's mouth, before he reached down between them. His come was all over Ray's hand and he wiped some of it onto his own. "Spread your legs," he whispered and Ray did.

Brad reached under Ray's zipper, into the opening of his briefs. There wasn't a lot of room, but he wriggled his hand until his thumb rested against Ray's hole, pulsing and so hot to his touch. He smoothed his come over it before pressing in. "I listen to you and I think about fucking you. The next time I fuck you it's going to be just like this. I'll have to open you with my fingers first, and I'll spend a long time doing it, because you're going to be so tight. I might even work you open with a plug first, get you good and ready for me." He twisted his thumb up, catching just enough of Ray's prostate to make him shudder. "I want you to think about that tonight, Ray, when you're lying there in your rack, jacking off. Think of all the ways I'm going to work you open for me. Think of how I'm going to keep you that way for days." Ray's hips jerked and he came, Brad swallowing his gasps in a kiss.

*

Brad was lying in his rack flipping through the call sign manual when his team came back from its night of revelry. Poke headed over his way and kicked his booted foot against Brad's. "Dog, you been here all night? Fuck, you need to get out some time. Even here at Matilda, the waiting room of death and destruction, there's life to be lived."

"Thank you, Poke, for that inspirational thought stolen from a ghetto greeting card." He looked up as Ray rushed in. "Corporal Person. Two minutes to lights out. I trust you've settled up business for the day?"

Ray grinned at them and held up a screwdriver. "Brad, get off my ass. I just scored this from an officer in RCT1. Had to go to my knees for it, but I think it'll be useful to open that fucker up."

"Person, is there anything you won't sell your whiskey-tango ass for?" Pappy asked, coming up and throwing an arm around Ray's shoulder. He winked at Brad. "We're going to have to ship him back in a some kind of decontamination container, he keeps up this kind of trade."

"It's a sad a state of affairs, how this boy keeps getting exploited by the man," said Dirty Earl, walking over from Bravo One's side of the tent and reaching for the tool. "That there ain't worth more than a hand job."

Ray held the screwdriver just out of Dirty's reach and twirled it between his fingers. Brad made himself look away, but he didn't need to see it to know what the smirk on Ray's face looked like. "Don't you worry, Jeff. This baby is going to be worth every inch the drubbing I take for it."


End file.
